


Not a Soldier

by Dulin



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulin/pseuds/Dulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barclay Base (South Pole) fic. </p>
<p>"I’m not a soldier, Colonel. I’m a terrorist. I don’t do duels and chivalry, I do bombs and stealth attacks. It’s as simple as that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> For Cozz, who made me want to write this, albeit without her knowing. I swear the gal wrestles more Zechs out of me than anyone else I know.

Heero Yuy spent a grand total of five minutes in his newly-restored gundam’s cockpit before deciding that he would use gundam 03 for the fight. 

Maizer still had trouble understanding why the Colonel’s orders not to reconnect the self-destruct mechanism had led the pilot to this decision. Or why the other pilot had agreed with him, after an exchange of looks and words that Maizer could only describe as cryptic. Colonel Zechs himself had not been nearly as surprised or offended as the techs had been. 

“He sees our gift as some kind of misplaced charity,” he had explained. “But my feelings have remained unchanged.”

“Colonel, does that mean that we should restore Tallgeese’s left arm? There’s still time to take the spare parts off 01.”

“That won’t be necessary. It is a valid handicap. Leave it as it is.”

Pilots really were the nightmare of mobile suits techs, Maizer thought as he went to knock on his CO’s door to report that Heero Yuy had finally taken a break and that his fellow pilot had replaced him to make the final adjustments to the gundam.

****

“You can’t sleep?”

Zechs had not exactly thought that he would manage to stroll into the gundam bay unnoticed, but it had taken Trowa Barton less than three seconds to know that there was someone behind his back and who that person was. The techs had deserted the bay when it had become clear that their help was not wanted and had gone to their bunks for a few hours of well-deserved rest.

“What about you?” Zechs asked, walking down the gangway and trying to keep his voice as low as possible. The sheer size of the bay made everything echo quite loudly, even more so at night when it was empty of human presence.

“I’m not the one fighting a duel tomorrow,” Barton said, his fingers flying on the keyboard in front of him. The word sounded like a bad joke in his mouth. 

“You don’t approve of this.”

Barton graced him with a glance.

“I think you are both pig-headed morons if you think this is going to solve anything, but it so happens that one pig-headed moron is fighting with my gundam, so I can’t just take off like I want to.”

The programming console beeped, and began to display several diagnosis diagrams. Zechs turned away and looked up at the gundam’s face.

“If you were in Mr. Yuy’s place, what would you do?”

Barton smiled.

“You don’t want to know, Colonel.”

“I do.”

Barton finally diverted his attention from the console to really look at him. Zechs couldn’t help wonder what he saw. Probably just Oz’s star pilot now branded a traitor by his own organization yet using its resources for a fight that didn’t make any sense and wearing his uniform even in the middle of the night.

“Alright,” he eventually said. “I would have waited for everyone to go to sleep, bombed the whole base and scrammed off.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a soldier, Colonel. I’m a terrorist. I don’t do duels and chivalry, I do bombs and stealth attacks. It’s as simple as that.”

The younger pilot frowned as the console emitted a particularly loud beep and swore under his breath. He rummaged through the tools scattered on the floor and jumped over the railway and onto the gundam’s left arm as easily as if he were working in Zero-G. He tinkered with something in the elbow joint of the suit and the metal of the beam Gatling gun seemed to groan. Zechs watched him like a hawk when he came back on the gangway and wiped his hands on a dirty rag. 

“You think I was wrong to repair the Wing?”

Barton nodded.

“There’s that, of course, but mostly, I think I have no idea of what’s going on in your head, and I’m better off not knowing. And, just in case you were wondering, I don’t plan on bombing your base.”

Zechs was almost startled to realize that he had been holding his breath. These young men would never stop surprising him, it seemed. Barton threw the rag on top of the tools and went back to his console.

“You have good techs,” he said almost distractedly, his mind already on the figures that were scrolling down the screen. “It can’t have been easy to put a piece of junk like Tallgeese back into shape.”

“Piece of junk?” Zechs said, his voice suddenly icy cold. “People died to put that suit back together!” Otto’s ghost would always be sitting with him in that cockpit, his hands over those of the prince he had given his life for and who didn’t even exist.

That didn’t impress Barton. 

“People always die to build those,” he said with a little knowing smile and a shrug. 

“Who died putting yours together?” Zechs asked, unable to let it go just yet. 

“The original pilot. Not because of the suit itself, although he didn’t have what it took to pilot it. He was gunned down by a tech.” Zechs couldn’t hold back a start, and Barton smiled again. “You didn’t really think that Trowa Barton was my real name, did you?”

“You are too young to be Dekim Barton’s son,” Zechs said in a whisper, shaking his head.

Barton didn’t answer, and a moment passed in silence, Barton working on his suit and Zechs looking at it.

“Why didn’t you repair Tallgeese’s left arm, Colonel? What exactly made you think that it was a ‘valid handicap’?” The accusation was clear in the words if not in the tone.

Zechs had to make an effort not to turn around and confront the pilot.

“I see this fight as a simple continuation of what happened in Siberia. How did you hear this conversation?”

“This is a standard Oz base with a few additions to adapt to the extreme climate. The blueprints are the same for those all over the world. They’re quite easy to navigate. Why do you think Heero decided to fight with my gundam?”

“I have to guess that he doesn’t see things the way I do.”

“You’re right, he doesn’t. But he’s still here and he agreed to fight with you anyway. I’ll be damned if I know why, but it’s certainly not because of Siberia. And it’s not like you’re acting on Oz’s orders on that one either.”

“Oz won’t condone my actions for much longer,” Zechs said, “which is just as good as I find myself unable to condone their actions.”

Barton snorted.

“If you’re thinking about a career change, how about becoming a terrorist? They’re hiring these days.” 

Zechs almost answered that one. Almost. 

“Good night, Mr. Barton.”


End file.
